


Someday

by sayonaraearthling



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Falling In Love, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Hanahaki Disease, It Really Do Be Like That, Language of Flowers, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Self-Harm, Strained Relationships, Strangers to Lovers, and in turn his feelings for hinata, basically kageyama had hanahaki but instead had surgery to get rid of the flowers, throwing up flowers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23324800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sayonaraearthling/pseuds/sayonaraearthling
Summary: Kageyama's chest aches, it pains him to breathe when every move he makes twists and tugs unrelenting at his lungs until he can feel the burn settle down deep inside his veins.He thought that he would've changed - would've come out stronger. So why? Why was this happening? It's here, leaning over the bathroom sink in his sister's tiny one bedroom apartment at three in the morning that he realizes he's truly alone once again and he doesn't know how to fix it. He doesn't know where he went wrong.He misses his grandfather - he misses Hinata too.-Kageyama had hanahaki disease. Keyword: Had.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	Someday

**Author's Note:**

> Ironically I've had this fic on the back burner since like late 2017 and I decided to finally do it justice and finish it up because I loved the idea behind the premise. This fic is based on the idea that hanahaki can be cured through surgery - but in the process the diseased patient loses all feelings they had towards the person.
> 
> Please be mindful of the tags! While nothing is too graphic - Kags is definitely not having a good time (because when is he ever).

Kageyama’s dreams have always been a vivid, enrapturing ordeal. They're fleeting and fast, almost like a free fall. Falling, descending, a wisp of colors flying by too fast to make out among the chaos and then… nothing, darkness, the impact and the jerking sensation as he hits the ground and he’s abruptly jerked back into reality. 

This time it's a little different, there's a pounding in his chest, an innate instinct telling him to run, he's being chased—by something, a ghoul? A werewolf? What does it matter? Something is after him and he's as good as dead like the overturned tree logs he finds himself dancing around in this forest of a maze. 

It's a dream—he tells himself, the entire situation screams bullshit from a mile away. _He knows this._ But it doesn't make the terror any less real, it doesn't ease the clawing, burn in his lungs and with each gasping breath he takes it stings even more so. 

It feels like he's suffocating, there's something he needs, something that will make the burning stop, _god just let it stop._

There's a clearing in towards the end of the forest, a light in the dark a savior from the madness encamping him. He reaches out to grasp it, and it blinds him with white, searing brightness.

Kageyama blinks once.

His chest feels barren and it pulses with dull aches that sting with each breath he takes, and it burns like the sun. But he likes the feeling, compared to how full and congested he had trained himself to get used to for months on end. His stomach feels just as empty. The feeling is less pleasant. When was the last time he ate? He can’t remember.

Twice.

The room spins and his head nearly swims with it. It’s dark but the windows beside him let the moon shine onto his bed and give him some semblance of where he is.

His head pounds with the beginnings of a headache.

He doesn’t want to be here, shoved and left to rot in a hospital bed with nothing to accompany him other than the heart monitor by his side. It’s silent, so unlike the fake and plastic hospitals he was used to seeing on television. There’s no one rushing into his room, fussing over him, asking how he feels or forcing him to eat. 

There are no doctors giving him reassuring pats on the shoulder and no chubby nurses sneaking him snacks from the cafeteria. No one walks him down to the overpriced café for the visitors and no one is sleeping in the chair beside him waiting for him to wake up.

He’s alone. 

It’s five in the morning and all he has to accompany him is the thin bed sheets and a bloody bag of bleeding heart flowers resting on the chair that serves as a cold reminder of what his fate could’ve been.

He turns his head to look out the window, getting lost in his head as he imagines the dark, wispy clouds to be fish swimming laps around the moon in the black abyss of the night sky.

He falls back asleep just as the clock reaches 5:14 am.

By the time he wakes back up its daytime and the pain in his lungs are gone, at least for now.

He wonders how many drugs are flowing through his veins at the moment.

The bag of bleeding hearts are gone when he checks, Kageyama guesses someone forgot to take them after the surgery. Maybe they didn’t want him to see them?

Either way it was too late.

At some point someone brings food to his room, lukewarm salmon, an array of roasted vegetables and jello.

He manages to eat just a bit, and pokes at the jello cup a few times just for the fun of it but that’s essentially it. Despite being hungry to the bone he doesn’t have the appetite for once. He hates feeling numb.

The team doesn’t come, of course they don’t, just because he’s not there doesn’t mean that practice still isn’t going on. The Earth is still turning, time still moves, and life blissfully continues on without him.

His grandmother visits however, just as he gives in and turns on the TV out of boredom. She pulls a chair up to his bedside and coaxes his head onto her lap and runs her spinney hands through his hair as he talks to his mother over the phone. His grandmother wouldn’t leave him be until he did.

The conversation is filled with nothing but “yes,” and “I’m fine,” and the same goes for when he calls his father. They sound concerned, but not concerned enough to leave work to visit him. 

But it’s fine.

It really is.

He doesn’t wish they were with him; not at all. They work hard overseas so he can live in a big, modern house in the middle of the boonies with his grandmother. It’s not like he’s entirely alone so there’s nothing to worry about, his grandmother’s opinion differs but he can’t find it in himself to care.

His doctor eventually finds his way into his room to introduce himself, which is stupid in his opinion, since his name is written on the white board directly under the tv. It’s impossible to miss, so why bother with the formalities?

The doctor, Mr. Miyagiーno, Mr. Miyami maybe, goes through what he assumes is standard protocol for these situations. He stands across the room, announcing with wide gestures that his surgery was a success (as if he hadn’t already known) and tries to butter him up by telling him how brave he was for getting the operation. He runs through a list of things he can and can’t do, no rigorous exercise—which means no volleyball—until his lung capacity improves, and he’ll have to carry around an inhaler “in case of emergencies,” he had said. The man drones on about a humidifier as Kageyama begins to zone out, finding his view of the parking lot much more interesting.

His grandmother leaves shortly after, to make it home before dark. Neither of them are much talkers so she settles by patting his cheek a few times and telling him to get better—a standard code for “I love you.”

The moment she leaves, a tall, pale looking woman dressed in cutesy elephant scrubs ushers her way into his room, all smiles and giggles despite the dreary atmosphere.

She bends over his bed, gently taking out the tubes embedded in his sides and unhooking his IV “Okay, Kageyama-kun, I need you to do me a favor and walk with me a bit around the building. Is that alright?” He hates the borderline patronizing tone she talks to him in but he takes it with a grain of salt. His legs are burning with the urge to move, to just get out of this damn hospital, he’ll take what he can get.

She helps him sit up on the bed and gives him a weird pair of stockings to wear under his hospital garb – something about blood clots but he doesn’t really pay attention.

Her hand is prominent on his back as she helps him to his feet, steadying him when he almost topples over for which he’s thankful. His chest constricts when the slightest movement pulls at his stitches, it hurts but he doesn’t want to say anything. He settles for biting his lip harder and harder with each step.

The TV echoes loudly as he staggers out of the room, nurse in tow, his mouth tasting of iron.

_I have scars_ , Kageyama just notices after a week, standing in the bathroom mirror in his hospital room. The starch-laced outfit he was forced to wear during the past week was thrown over the toilet seat, hopefully long forgotten.

He stands in the mirror in a pair of jeans and nothing else. He gingerly brings a hand to his chest, almost afraid to touch the red puckered scar that runs beneath his breast and hooks to his back. He traces the line back and forth along his right side, the stitches embedded in his skin still itch with the slightest touch—it’s annoying but more bearable than being pumped full of painkillers to the point where he couldn’t feel anything.

And yet something in him still feels empty—like there’s something missing.

He blinks once.

His fingers are digging, scratching at his scar, trying to rip the stitches and tear himself apart at the seams—to open his wound gaping wide. He wants to see himself bleed, just wants to find something- anything that’ll just make him feel like more than just an empty shell of a human being.

Twice.

He’s stopped by the fervent knocking on the door by his impatient grandmother, waiting outside to whisk him away to the remnants of his old everyday life.

Suddenly he’s letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, wincing as he slowly peels his arm away from his side and up into the light of the mirror.

There’s sparse patches of blood on the very tips of his fingers but that’s essentially it. It’s a lot less than he had expected.

When he inspects his side, he’s grateful to find that all of his stitches are intact.

Kageyama quickly rinses his hands clean, washing away any trace of the episode he just had down the drain and splashes his face just for good measure before picking up the shirt he was given and slipping it on, taking extra care not to touch his sides again.

He takes one last look at his reflection, eye bags and all, before he pushes himself to leave the bathroom and finally go home with his grandmother.

He was sick of this hospital.

School ultimately feels like he’s tipped some sort of scale. Nothing’s really changed honestly, he still stands high above the crowds, the trio of girls still gossip by his desk, and the instructors still teach the same thing over and over.

The Earth still turns.

And yet, he seems to be the only one off kilter.

It’s a little annoying in the morning when he wakes up at five am to jog and realize he can’t exercise still, and even more vexing when he has to stop himself from putting on his Karasuno sweats instead of his regular uniform. He’s not sure if he’s welcome to practice if all he’s going to do is sit around and watch.

But apparently some of his teammates feel differently.

Sugawara calls for him during their lunch break, confidently striding into his classroom un-perpetuated and shaking him awake from his nap, not satisfied until he trains his usual glare at him.

“Look at you!” Suga laughs lightly, roughly ruffling his hair in favor of his usual monster punches, “Back and in commission, how was the surgery? Can you practice yet?”

“Ah, no.” He answers simply, “Not until I get cleared to by my physical therapist.”

Suga hums in response, never losing his smile.

“That doesn’t mean you can’t drop by every once in a while, I’m pretty sure Ukai won’t mind.”

“Hinata would be happy to have you back too, he doesn’t hit my tosses the same way he does yours.” He quips.

Hinata?

He draws a blank.

Fast reflexes, bad fundamentals, hair as orange as a goddamn mandarin. His brain supplies.

Oh _that_ Hinata.

“Hinata’s actually kind of been on edge since you left, so be prepared for a mouthful when you stop by.” Suga warns him, unaware or uncaring that he isn’t fully paying attention. It seems to be a running theme.

At the thought of Hinata, Kageyama’s mind goes blissfully empty, a black slate.

This is good. A voice in the back of his head sounding oddly like his mother over the phone right after he went into surgery.

“Right.” He answers, ever so simply—suddenly craving the gungun yogurt that the vending machine supplies.

Sugawara doesn’t stick around long after that, called back by a classmate. It doesn’t really involve him so he doesn’t make a point of listening but it’s hard to miss the tall third year begging to borrow his upperclassman’s gym sweats.

He makes his way out once he’s sure he won’t run into anyone else for the time being, hissing when he stands up too quickly and pulls at his stitches just enough for them to burn.

_I wonder if the cafeteria is still selling curry bread._

* * *

“One more!”

Kageyama bounces the ball in his hands against the gym’s hardwood floor, the resounding thuds from the impact of his slaps is satisfying in a way he can’t fully describe. So he slaps it harder and relishes the echoing boom as a result.

He stalls for as long as Hinata is willing to be patient, which, with his bird brain capabilities isn't exactly that long.

They’re cutting things close anyway, but regardless they should be thankful. It’s not often that Daichi let’s them stay later than the rest of the team—usually getting kicked out once the last of them finish changing and a majority have already left. In fact, Daichi has no idea they’re here. Whether good fortune or just preordained, Sawamura was whisked away by Takeda the moment individual practice ended and they haven’t seen hide nor hair of him since. 

Sugawara, in that weird mind reading... _thing_ he always does, took one look at them and casually pressed the gym key into his palm. He wasn’t going to question it but Sugawara is the type to think of every outcome, specifically when it comes to going over Daichi’s head, so he brings his fingers to his lips and winks at him.

_Whatever that means._

It’s dark now, and eventually someone will see that the gym lights are still on and tell them to go home. But that hasn’t happened yet, so as far as he’s concerned, it's not his problem.

“Bateyama-kun I’m going to die of old age if you keep taking this long!” Ah, there he goes.

It only takes a well placed glare and a shout to get the ginger to back off but Kageyama gives in to his demands regardless and launches the ball at him. Maybe a little too roughly by the way Hinata “oof”’s as he catches it.

Hinata lobs the ball in his direction, already approaching his run up. He bumps the ball ever so slightly and it’s _perfect_.

Hinata, blissfully, endearingly so—is always there to meet it.

  
  


They do get kicked out soon after by a concerned teacher who had stayed late but his muscles are pleasantly relaxed and numb so he helps pack up without a fuss. Hinata, in some freak of nature is still full of energy (because when is he not) and it’s prominent as he carries most of the conversation on the way home.

Sakanoshita is closed when they walk by looking for a quick bite and it’s pure luck that Hinata invites himself over for a sleepover since he has a leftover sandwich he never ate stuffed at the bottom of his bag.

It’s squished half to death and the mayo tastes gross after sitting out for hours and yet none of that seems to matter when they’re fighting over leg space while watching anime. The show itself is pretty boring and he can't understand anything that’s happening, but Hinata is less annoying when he’s preoccupied like this so he shuts his mouth and watches the characters fly around the screen.

That night at three am, something in his throat rattles and there’s a cough he can’t seem to get rid of.

* * *

The team has a field day when he walks into the gym, with a book he pilfered from the library tucked under his arm. 

The gym smells like it always has. Something akin to sweat, wood, and icy-hot spray. He’s only been out of school for a week or so but he misses it—volleyball that is. Longing is a deeply rooted pit in his stomach, wrapping around his restless muscles and halting him from moving the way he’s oh-so used to. He hasn’t been absent long enough that he’s lost any muscle, but his shoulders still quake with impatience.

“Kageyama!” Nishinoya notices him first, lingering by the door. He hops over Tanaka, (stepping on his foot in the process) screaming a flurry of words he can’t hope to catch before he launches his body with a force Tobio’s only seen him do with Shimizu.

Kageyama makes a hasty dodge to the side, watching his upperclassman tumble out the gym doors and it feels a little like he’s come home.

The rest of them at this point just stare. Either unsure of what to say or just surprised that he’s here in general. It’s more than unsettling, seeing them as quiet as they are but he’s saved from having to break the silence himself once Nishinoya recovers and pushes him into the gym.

As per routine, the entirety of the team recovers quickly—Daichi scrambles for damage control when he finds himself locked into Tanaka’s grip, knuckles grinding into his head and his neck held hostage in an arm loop. There’s hands on his back and, ah, there’s Nishinoya joining in to jump on his back. 

It takes the combined effort of Sawamura and Sugawara to free him from the second years. Sugawara slips them an intentionally blatant thumbs-up behind his back that Daichi is quick to reprimand, even though the other probably wasn’t listening. Affected or not, Suga recovers quickly slipping his arm around his shoulder—pulling him away from the crowd.

“Okay big guy, just watch your senpai take the lead,” He chirps jovially—his eyebrows doing that weird… wiggling thing that he still doesn’t fully understand. “And no touching the balls. You’re on time out for the time being!”

“Okay.” He nods in compliance.

He’s nudged towards the corner of the gym and as Sawamura begins to direct the team through their stretches, he takes the message as what it is and prepares himself for the mental strain of _not_ playing volleyball.

And if there’s a set of brown hawk eyes unashamedly following him as he climbs the ladder leading to the nosebleed stands haloing the gym’s interior it’s no skin off his back.

“We’re starting with receiving drills!” Ukai eventually makes his way into the gym.

"Let me hear your voices!”

“Right!” His teammates shout in response.

By pure instinct alone, Kageyama lets out a lackluster, “right…” as he opens the object of his latest distraction—a book on flowers.

Go figure.

He turns to the first page, not really expecting much.

**Lamprocapnos spectabilis, otherwise known as Bleeding Hearts, are flowers belonging to the poppy family Papa-**

Kageyama glowers down at the word. Papavera?

Papaveraceae?

...Okay, next page.

**Alongside the plant's etymology, the Bleeding Heart flower carries its own unique tale of two lovers. A prince, infatuated with the princess of a neighboring kingdom sought to express his love to the maiden. He brought her wondrous gifts from his years of travelling.**

**First, he gifted her with two pink bunnies—magic running through their veins. Yet that alone was not enough to grasp the princess’ attention.**

**Second, the prince presented the princess with the finest silk slippers. Selfishly, the princess accepted the gift telling the prince she could never come to truly love him.**

**At his wits end the prince did not give up. He sought out a pair of magical earrings to give to the princess. Nevertheless, the princess did not even bat an eye. Struck by grief, the prince drew his knife, forever spurred by the princess, he drove the knife-**

“Look out!”

BANG!

Someone hits an incredible home-run that causes a ball to ricochet into the stands. Kageyama’s ear drums rattle with the steel bars as though struck themselves and it causes his poorly gathered focus to shatter.

“Don’t mind, Kageyama!” 

“Oi! Fix that sloppy stance of yours!” Kageyama sets the book down quick enough to lean over the railing and catch Ukai scolding a distracted Hinata.

The ginger’s gaze is fixed on him and his skin shivers and crawls under the scrutiny. A twinge, longing feeling sparkled down his arms as he fisted the steel bars, was this… nostalgia? It wasn’t necessarily a cold gaze but there was an uncanny intelligence behind them as he stared wide eyed, face impassive, unblinking and harsh as though left out in the basking hot summer sun.

The rest of the gym fades into a meaningless backdrop—the cacophony of Ukai’s yelling fading to nothing. A mere stage and Hinata was the conductor.

_What the hell is with this guy?_

Kageyama forgets all about his book, opting to take out his volleyball journal. The canvas cover feels like it’s been a long time coming as he turns it around in his palms. He finds the back of a page he had scratched out previously and finds himself staring at Hinata, fervently scribbling chicken scratch. 

Usually when he writes he feels relief, like taking a shower after practice, but his thoughts are blank.

And it disturbs him.

  
  


Kageyama doesn’t really have a solid opinion of Hinata Shouyou—perhaps it’s better that way or at least he had been told (being told that something is good for him seems to be a running theme lately). Maybe he had had one in the past but it had been just that, the past. Frankly, he had almost forgotten the other existed. Whoops.

His brain runs a thousand miles an hour as he squints down at the ginger who’s apparently never heard of personal space and held no qualms about trying to snatch the curry bun (that he had bought with his own money) in his hands.

“What the hell is your problem?” He barks after the third (and frankly pathetic) swipe. Hinata smells like sweat from practice and it’s gross.

Hinata jumps at him again—this time he uses his foot to keep him at bay. 

Direct action.

“I won our bet! You were supposed to buy me five meat buns last week remember? Then you up and disappeared on me, stingy!”

Kageyama in fact does not remember.

“You can’t fool me, Kageyama-kun. I got more than five receives last practice, we had a deal!” The other continues to egg him on, poking at his side and getting even further in his space, either unaware or uncaring of his building annoyance. 

Hinata’s poke turns into a jab. His fists are small and his body carries no muscle so it doesn’t hurt much. 

Nevertheless, the implication of a punch going wayward is apparent and he finds himself recoiling in on itself out of self preservation. 

In his mind—Kageyama imagines a frayed string breaking. 

“I have no idea what you're talking about! Keep your grubby hands to yourself.” Kageyama slaps the offending hand away from him in a desperate move to get away. He ends up shouting—frustration laced in his tone. 

His voice is louder than he had meant it to be, bouncing off the surrounding houses and echoing back to him. He’s angry and it’s apparent judging by the way half the team pauses and glances their way as though waiting for a bomb to go off.

Kageyama blinks once.

Hinata freezes too, eyes wide and shining with something he can’t seem to place and it only serves to make him uncomfortable. There’s something he’s missing, something he isn’t getting and he truly, honestly, doesn’t understand.

Twice.

His chest aches and the hollowness in his rib cage feels as though it’s closing in—his stitches are too tight, pulling at the seams of his skin and the phantom feeling of tearing makes it hurt to breathe. 

Hinata’s face scrunches up into something raw and ugly, arms dropping to his side and head hanging as though he had been slapped—surely he must be overreacting.

This is too much.

Kageyama holds his breath—he hadn’t. Fuck he hadn’t meant to snap like that. 

His heart is running a hundred miles an hour, stressed and overworked. Thankfully, it’s Tsukishima this time who comes to his rescue—the blond isn’t one for physical interaction and hell he probably never will be. So the fact that the other saw no better alternative to this altercation than cuffing the back of his head and dragging him away from the group. 

Tsukishima’s palms are cold, he could feel the goosebumps rising underneath his loose grip. It makes him shiver but his head is clear. 

“First day back and you're already harassing your subjects? Looks like a new record, Your Majesty.” The blond’s face is bland and impassive, he’s never been good at reading Tsukishima, (hell he didn’t like even looking at him half the time) but his voice carries a twinge of urgency. 

Yamaguchi clambers to follow, casting a remorseful look at the ginger over his shoulder as he moves.

“Tsukki, wait!”

No one makes a move to stop them.

He walks home with Tsukishima and Yamaguchi for the rest of the week and Hinata doesn't join them so things are fine.

**Author's Note:**

> I thought the story behind the bleeding hearts matched Tobio really well - thank god flower language is so specific.


End file.
